


Sympathy

by zedahwolfie



Category: Heavy Rain
Genre: All my boys are suffering, Angst, Drug Withdrawal, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Description of Corpses, Gun Violence, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, like really slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-01-22 19:32:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18534049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zedahwolfie/pseuds/zedahwolfie
Summary: The dust begins to settle in the aftermath of the Origami Killer case and the Mars family still has a lot of issues to work through, but all is relatively well. That is, until a panicked FBI agent visits their home and effectively tramples all over the peace Ethan and Shaun were hoping for. The Origami Killer case has been re-opened on account of two fathers of the victims being killed with seemingly no connection to the killer. It's Ethan Mars' turn to be saved and Norman Jayden is much too tired to realize that he cares a little too much.





	1. Again

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first hand at writing anything with unoriginal characters so you’ll have to be patient with me! I think it’s fitting to make my first fic about Heavy Rain since it’s the first story-heavy game I got obsessed with in my early teen years. Also, I needed some ideas on what to start with so I legitimately searched up a first line generator and that's what I got so uhhhh  
>  
> 
> The beginning takes place during the investigation, before Norman and Carter chase down Ethan during the lizard trial. It’s like an extra chapter wedged in between the ones that already exist so the story isn’t TOO divergent from the original. The rest is post-epilogue. :) 
> 
>    
> Might turn this into a series, might not. Depends on if the vision I’ve got really gets anywhere. Some elements are AU-ish, but we’ll try not to deviate too much from canon. The story unfolds after the following epilogues:
> 
>    
> A New Start - Ethan and Shaun  
> Case Closed - Norman  
> Heroine - Madison  
> Origami’s Grave - Scott 
> 
>    
> Enjoy!

October 6, 2011  
Thursday, 12:42 PM  
2.374 inches

  
The victim had tried to write something as he was dying. Chicken-scratch lines and smudged gray fingerprints littered a yellow slip of paper, needing to be unfolded for Norman to read it properly. He sighed, scanning the words quickly without making sense of much.

 

“I really tried and I don’t know what to do ehnymore… he’s gone and I’m so screwed… the guy musta been in a rush,” he concluded. It was a poor conclusion to come to, seeing as how the man in question was found slumped over his well-worn desk, crumpled note in stiffened hand. Of course he was in a rush.

 

Blake snorted. “Ya think? Any guy would’ve figured that one out, Norman,” he sneered. “Real question we’re trying to answer is if the killer’s involved. Get your fancy glasses to help you if you can’t do it yourself.”

 

Norman really tried to be patient. He did. Many opportunities came up for him to give him a snide remark or rip him a new one with a witty response, but the more time he wasted thinking of a proper comeback, the faster the moment escaped him. Instead, he exhaled roughly through his nose and slipped on the headache-inducing ARI. Areas of interest lit up as he scanned the room, lifting his hand to prompt the room-wide scan to pick up on any chemical residue and genetic markers.

 

It was a slow process filled with toppling over discarded books and too-close walks near pointy drawers, but as Norman quietly made his way around the apartment, the harder it seemed to focus. The walls were lined with grime and mold, only accentuated by the dirty carpet under his feet and the worn furniture haphazardly organized throughout the one-roomed dining and living area. Norman was used to the grimy atmosphere of the DC metro area, but hadn’t realized these types of locations existed outside of his home base until he was assigned cases across the country. It shouldn’t have mattered much, but the walls and the way you could see the dust in the air made his stomach churn. When was the last time this man took care of himself?

 

“You found anything yet?” He could hear the lieutenant in the bedroom, still in the victim’s general vicinity.

 

“His name was Jude Bowles. A mechanic working at a nearby car dealer, wife and two- one kid.” Norman fumbled through the information he gathered, notably uncomfortable with the mention of the most recently murdered Origami Killer victim.

 

He had the chance to investigate the child, Jeremy Bowles, while first meeting up with Lt. Blake, but found it to be a trivial experience with only a car model and general profile of the killer’s usual mode of disposing of the body to find, which he already learned prior to his dispatch. It seemed that Jude recently left his wife, notable in the hasty selection of a cheap apartment and the guilt-ridden photos of his children on the dark oak nightstand.

 

When Norman made his way back to the bedroom to properly address Blake, he found him staring intently at the bloodstain on the far wall, behind the victim’s desk so it sprayed exactly from the front of his head, where a fresh gunshot tore through his skull. The bullet pierced through the back of his skull and lodged itself within the woodwork behind the plastered walls. The victim had a good look at his killer before dying, Norman realized, since the bullet entered from the front. As first responders to the scene, none of the points of interest had been clearly marked by investigators and none of the possible evidence was tucked away for further analysis. The way Blake stared, however, was not critical nor was it methodical. It was a raw, blank stare that revealed more than what Norman might have thought was possible from the hardened, immoral man he was paired up with.

 

“This is a strange occurrence,” Norman started speaking without announcing his presence. Blake stirred. “The killa isn’t known to kill the fathahs of the victims. Many of them are still living to this day. I don’t see why there’d be a reason to kill Jeremy’s fatha without a clear motive.”

 

“That’s the problem with you feds. It’s all case and point with you. People are flexible, do unreasonable things and mess up. Maybe the killer’s getting too cocky.”

 

“He is getting more comfortable, I’ll agree with that much.” Norman hated acknowledging Blake’s obvious distaste for authority and decided against his first response of I hate you too, Carter Blake.

 

By the time the CSI team had joined them, there wasn’t much left to find. Notes and pictures were gathered up in bags and a small lizard-shaped origami figure was collected from an untouched desk drawer. Norman took in a deep breath as he stepped out of the apartment building, water beginning to gather on the leather of his coat’s shoulders.

 

“What a fuckin mess,” Blake muttered under his breath as he shouldered past Norman and made his way to his car, ducking his head to avoid as much of the rain as he could.

 

 _None of it makes sense._ He stalked slowly in Blake’s general direction and approached the car without really looking at where he was going. _Why would he kill this father? Did he know something that the others didn’t? Even then, why risk it?_

 

“Norman, watch it!” Blake’s voice cut through his thoughts at about the same time a car horn blared to his immediate left. The car had stopped a few feet away, but he was still glued to its path. “I swear if you get killed before you find this guy I’ll personally bring Mars in myself.”

 

Norman scoffed and muttered under his breath, “Or you’ll celebrate.”

 

~~*~~

 

October 21, 2011

 

All of Scott Shelby’s crimes could be proven and were all accounted for except for that one. He visited the homes and workplaces of his victims and in each one, he hadn’t killed a single distraught mother or grieving father. No one spared Jude Bowles a second glance and Ethan Mars had proven his innocence. Norman personally chased after Shelby and knew how easy it was to predict each of his movements from that conveyor belt battle, so why hadn’t Jude heard him enter his apartment?

 

All these questions and more stirred in Jayden’s mind as he packed up his belongings. He felt that he still had more to clean up after Shelby’s chaos in Philly and he still felt unsure of all that had transpired in the following days after the warehouse rescue. Ethan Mars thanked him in passing and Madison Paige had called him after escaping the killer’s burning apartment. Neither of them contacted each other ever since, but a deep wariness hung over Norman’s head like a dark cloud of resentment and he wondered if the others could feel it too. He sincerely hoped they didn’t.

 

When Norman arrived at the warehouse and tackled Shelby before he could shoot Ethan, he didn’t have the time to glance over his shoulder and make sure he was alright. The father had gone through more than imaginable, as he later found out through hundreds of press conferences, articles, and news stories. In that moment, all that he suffered was given its reward. Shaun Mars was safe. His father was safe. All that mattered had been resolved, but Norman pursued the killer relentlessly. In his mind, no one was safe until Shelby was behind bars and he would be the one to go after him, risks be damned. It was that kind of thinking that made him a better profiler than a field agent.

 

Watching the killer fall into the churning metal blades at the end of the conveyor belt nearly made him lose his balance and fall in right after Shelby. He vividly remembered the white-knuckled grip he had on the railing and the bile that threatened to rise out of his throat, despite having seen countless gruesome scenes in his line of work.

 

The aftermath was blurry and from what he could recall, the press labeled him and Ethan Mars heroes while Ms. Paige made a name for herself detailing her side of the story in a novel revolved around her discoveries in the case. From what he could gather, she was a journalist posing as a friendly stranger. What started off as an attempt to get the scoop on Mars’ side of the story spiraled into an emotional journey. Not that he read the novel or anything. It seemed that they might have crossed paths, had Jayden arrived sooner at the Blue Lagoon during his investigation. It was a matter of circumstance that he never got the chance to properly introduce himself to her. 

 

Norman chanced a glance at himself in the armoire’s mirror across from where he stood over the side of the hotel bed. He froze as he realized the dark shades were still covering his eyes. Slowly, he reached up to take them off and tucked them away into the inside pocket of his overcoat. His hands struggled to remain still as he ran his fingers through his neatly combed brown hair. He suddenly felt the exhaustion of the past week’s events fall over him as his thoughts settled and his body piled onto the hotel bed in agreement with his mind. 

 

The hotel sheets were soft enough to fool the usual patron, but Norman knew better. These sheets were just as cold as the last and there was something barren about the way they were immaculately presented. His superiors loved to tease him about his unnecessarily obsessive attention to detail and in that moment, he felt the curse that came with his observant nature. In this case, it merely served to amplify the tight feeling in his chest, staring up at the ceiling through a haze. 

 

He somehow hadn’t relapsed on Triptocaine since the end of the investigation, but found that he was more and more afraid of its outcomes. The withdrawals were one thing to deal with, but the headaches and shakiness of his hands were partly due to his overuse of ARI. Few agents were cleared for its use and he had been one of the lucky few to bear its consequences early in his career. If he were any smarter, he would’ve refused to use an object that interacts so intimately with his brain, but now all he sees in his peripherals are images of tanks and in the worst nights, the echoing sounds of tennis balls on concrete. 

 

As his eyelids flickered and the hotel room wavered out of his vision, he could faintly hear rushing wind and the crinkling of leaves. Cascades of water flowed in and out of sight, leaving trails of dust in their wake. A soft sigh passed through his lips as he took a shaky breath and clasped his hands on his chest. In the terror of what wasn’t real, he hoped that sleep would somehow put him out of his misery. 

 

~~*~~

 

November 3, 2011

 

“So what’ll it be? Feeling like pizza or mac n’ cheese tonight?” Ethan Mars ruffled the scruff of short brown hair on his son’s head, eyes crinkling into crow’s feet as he smiled. 

“Pizza please,” Shaun replied. His voice was still hoarse, weakened from days of screaming for help. His skin was off-colored and much too dry. It was so dry, in fact, that his fingertips and toes were still slightly wrinkled. 

“Sure thing, son.” Ethan complied readily, hoping to fill the void of what he’d almost lost with devoted love and attention. He called the nearby pizza place and placed their regular order of a half-pepperoni, half-cheese pizza. As he finished up the call, he noticed Shaun idly drawing at the kitchen table and as he peered over his shoulder when the call ended, his breath hitched in recognition.

“What are you up to?” he asked tentatively, hoping to ease Shaun back into casual conversation seamlessly without showing his hestance in bringing up the subject of his drawing. 

“Drawing,” he answered. 

“Sure, but who?”

“The agent from TV. The news says he was there when… when you found me. He caught the bad guy, didn’t he?” He looked up from his drawing and up into his father’s keen blue eyes. They swam with boundless tides, searching his son’s gaze until he exhaled heavily. 

“He was, yes. I didn’t know you’ve been watching the news. You think you feel… ok enough to watch?”

“I lived it, dad. I don’t think there’s anything there that would make me more scared than I already was.” Those words punched the air out of Ethan’s lungs. Shaun merely gave him a small, tired smile and turned back to the sketch. 

A new level of isolation blanketed his son, he realized. He’d always been less bouncy than his brother, more quiet and reserved like his father, but after the accident, his relationship with him was pulled taut. As cruel as it was, the recent kidnapping had brought them closer than they had been in what might have been years. Shaun could at least initiate conversations with him, though short and usually about a trivial matter like  the beginnings of the heavy winter weather or a question about where he’d gone wrong in a math problem. 

Ethan could see the outline of a strong jaw and hard, determined eyes on Shaun’s paper. He’d been told by his therapist that continuing to draw his emotions could help him feel better about what happened. Of course, neither him nor Ethan really believed that it would magically take away the trauma of those events, but he’d always enjoyed drawing, no matter what the subject. Lately, he’d expressed an interest in making his drawings more detailed and “real-life looking,” as he had once put it. Ethan had to admit that his Shaun was becoming more and more of a refined artist. He liked to think that he took after his own creative genes, seeing as how being an architect had its own forms of art attached to create beautiful modern designs. 

_ But why agent Jayden?  _ Shaun hadn’t met the man and Ethan himself could hardly say he knew much about him either. He knew the man had a hand in discovering who the kidnapper was and had practically saved his life when the Origami Killer pulled a gun on him when he got to work pulling his son out of the grate. The events of that day still leave him with a concoction of what ifs to mull over, but what he did know was that he owed that agent his life and more importantly, that of his son’s. Looking back at the drawing Shaun was beginning to color in with his peeled crayons, he understood that Shaun recognized the role the agent played in saving him as well. 

Unlike his son, Ethan refused to continue his therapy sessions. He found that they didn’t work and instead of making the healing process easier, it peeled scabs over unhealed wounds threatening to scar over. Neither son nor father spoke much about that perilous week and neither felt comfortable enough to talk about what each had to go through. 

The first few nights had been rough. Grace called Ethan nearly every half an hour as Shaun continuously fell into a panic, his nerves unwilling to ease no matter how many times Ethan soothed him through the crackle of the phone line. When it became apparent that Shaun needed his father more than anything, Grace relented her hold on him and they agreed it was within Shaun’s best interest to stay with him. When this proved to ease his worries, Ethan found the courage to ask her for full custody. The process would be long and would take months to review, but Grace knew that they needed each other more than either parent was willing to admit. Shaun made his approval clear when he immediately gathered stuffed animals and piles of clothes into a suitcase haphazardly. Grace simply laughed airily and helped him repack.

 

Shaun didn’t mention the agent again that evening and as they ate together in comfortable silence, Ethan couldn’t help, but wonder how the agent was doing. He’d kept close to Madison even after her misuse of his trust. He decided to trust her, seeing as she raced to the warehouse even after he’d rejected her advances, obviously caring enough about his situation to care about whether or not Shaun lived. He had her number saved and they’d talked sporadically over the last few weeks, mostly about Shaun and sometimes, about how Ethan was faring. When it came to Jayden, however, his situation was left for Ethan to simply guess over. He assumed he was being honored highly for chasing down a serial killer and framing the correct suspect. Perhaps he was enjoying the luxury of a well-earned vacation after cracking down on one of Philadelphia’s most notorious criminals. 

What he did not expect was for the agent to present himself at his home a week later. 

“A-agent Jayden! What a surprise! What brings you here?” Ethan’s brows furrowed in confusion as he looked up at the slightly taller man. Shaun’s head turned towards the front door from his spot on the couch and had to fight to keep himself from calling out in sudden interest. 

“Mr. Mars, I’m sorry to come here unannounced, but something new has come up.” 


	2. Stay Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We sat down and had a chat, but I don't think this made our situation any better.

November 6, 2011  
8:47 PM  
53 Days

Something new and devastatingly alarming had occurred after Norman left the PPD. His apartment was just as barren and untouched as he had left it, spots behind the TV and on top of dressers collecting dust from disuse. He took his time slowly unpacking his belongings and threw most of his clothes into a laundry basket in the corner of his bedroom. Two suits were caked with mud and he knew he’d have to soak them in water before attempting to send them to the dry cleaner. He removed the current suit jacket and rolled up his button-up. He carried one suit on each arm and as he made his way to his bathroom, his phone started to vibrate in his pocket.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered. The call had to be from the head of the criminal investigation division since he hardly received calls from anyone else. He’d barely been home an hour before they were calling him already. “Hello?” He shrugged the phone onto his shoulder and used his hands to start filling the tub.

“Agent Jayden? We’ve received a call from the Philadelphia Police Department regarding the Origami Killer case.”

“Sure, do they need some case notes sent to them?” He turned off the faucet and reached for the detergent he stored underneath the sink. A low mex garnered his attention and he turned to look over at his gray and white Persian named Russo. The cat slinked along the back of his legs and Norman smiled faintly.

“No, they’ve re-opened the case.” The detergent bottle slipped from his hand.

“Shit!” He quickly grabbed for the detergent, watching in dismay as the water in the tub started to run a deep blue. Russo watched with a bemused gaze, tail flicking back and forth.

“Agent?”

“Sorry director, you startled me. Re-open the case? But Shelby’s-”

“Dead, yes, which is why we are particularly alarmed by the death of the father of an Origami Killer victim.” If Norman was startled before, now he was absolutely terrified. He felt as his mouth suddenly ran dry and he directed his full attention to his phone, drying his hands on his pants and grabbing for the phone to hold it up properly.

“E-Ethan Mars?”

“No, Hassan Khadem, father of Reza Khadem. Date of death was a while ago, but you were unavailable at the time.” The news was still devastating, but Norman found himself breathing a sigh of relief. After all the sorrow the Mars family experienced, they definitely didn’t deserve more of it. Norman didn't spend another moment dwelling on why it was important for him to know Ethan Mars was still alive and well. “According to your report, this is the second father murdered without resolution and in connection with the case. The department fears that this may not be the end.”

Norman sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m guessin they want me back up there?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Of course.”

“Listen, Jayden, we’d send someone else if it were more convenient, but you know this case like the back of your hand. It’d take longer if we sent someone who has to learn everything from scratch.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Good. Take it easy for the rest of the evening. Barker’ll send you the details tomorrow morning. Be ready to fly out again the day after that.” The line cut out before Norman was able to give him a response. From his crouched position beside the tub, he placed his forehead against the side and let his hand fall limp over the side, phone in hand.

 _When will it end?_ He wondered if this was some sort of sick, twisted nightmare he just needed to wake up from. All he had to do was wake up and he’d be in bed, ready to waltz into the central office and take on a drug trafficking case. Or maybe he’d be cuffed in the shoulder by a fellow agent who’d heard of his accomplishment and was extremely jealous because he had his eye set on solving the case first. _Anything but this, really. Anything but this._

He slowly lifted his head and stared into the mid-tone blue of the stained water and reluctanly tucked his legs underneath him to stand up. 

“I guess I’m leavin the suit,” he mumbled. “Better than it bein soaked in rainwatah.” If there was one thing he was gonna be especially peeved about, it was gonna be that goddamn rain. 

 

~~*~~

 

November 9, 2011  
6:31 PM  
50 Days

Norman’s hands were shaky underneath the table and he glanced around quickly, trying to take in as much information as he could. It took him a while to find the address, as it had been changed since the last time Ethan was questioned at the police station. Their new home, a decent-sized condo in the heart of Philadelphia, was much brighter than the gloomy neighborhood of their past. He took in the photos on the walls and the many sketches and drawings that accompanied them. An analog clock ticked on to fill the white noise of the living space and though the room was designed with beige, brown, and neutral tones to compliment the warm sunlight, Norman felt as cold as he did during the crime scene investigation by the railroad. 

Ethan silently shifted throughout his kitchen, moving towards cupboards and drawers to find what he needed to start up a pot of coffee. Norman glanced at the blur of dark blue every once in a while, a nervous, tense energy engulfing them as Ethan poured water into the back of the machine. 

“You didn’t have to send the kid away, you know,” Norman quietly started. “He might’ve already heard what I said at the door ehnyways and he’ll have questions.”

“Yes, questions I can answer on my own terms.” The response was a lot colder than Ethan intended for it to be, but when it came to Shaun, he didn’t mind hurting a few feelings. Norman took it as a hint to not mention it again. Ethan sat down across from Norman at the kitchen table and gently drummed his fingers on its surface. Norman watched the action and visibly paled at the sight of his half-missing left pinkie.

“Mr. Mars, as the father of the most recent Origami Killer victim, I found it necessary to inform you that the case has been re-opened.”

There was a pause, a beat of silence in which neither spoke, but merely looked into the other’s eyes. The pain and confusion that crossed into the gray of Ethan’s eyes was nearly instantaneous. 

“Re-re-open? Why would they - have they lost their - what do you mean re-open the case? Hasn’t it already been resolved?” Ethan’s voice was steadily rising and Norman quickly glanced towards the room Shaun had disappeared into, hoping that he hadn’t heard that last bit.

“I had a similar reaction. It appears that now, the fathers are being targeted.” Ethan’s hands propped up his head as he leaned against the table, a sudden nausea taking hold. “We’re not sure who’s behind this, but I advise staying away from public spaces while we investigate who-”

“I can’t... “ Ethan’s voice cracked as he interrupted. Norman stopped instantly, eyebrows knitting and effectively removing his mask of indifference. “I can’t do this again, Agent. My life at risk… again…?” 

As he lifted his face to look up into Norman’s eyes, a glistening sheen of unshed tears threatened to spill down his checks and onto the glass cover of the wooden table. The coffee machine beeped distantly.

“Ethan, I can’t begin to imagine how you must feel, but it was only fair for me to inform you.” He numbly nodded in response, gaze unfocused. 

“How am I gonna tell Shaun?”

Norman wasn’t one for sympathizing dreadfully with the victims and investing his own time into their well-being. He was a logical, stoic profiler with a singular target. He was never called heartless despite this; he had his own moral compass and preferred being a pacifist, emphasized when paired up with Carter Blake. He never became terribly emotionally invested in his cases, not since he first started working for the FBI. This was a first. He felt the need to comfort the father, tell him that he’d do everything in his power to end his worries. The tight feeling in his chest stirred all kinds of bewildering emotions that he couldn’t quite describe, ones outlined by guilt and unease.

“It isn’t my place, but I think he has the right to know too. If… if something were to happen to you and Shaun had no idea you were at risk…” Norman allowed his sentence to trail off, detesting the implications. 

Ethan made no move to form a proper reply. He simply stood up and retrieved two dark brown mugs from the cupboard directly behind him. Slowly pouring two cups of black coffee, he set one down in front of Norman before taking a sip from his own cup. Norman couldn’t read his expression and as his eyes flickered across the kitchen, it became increasingly obvious that he had overstayed his welcome. Ethan’s gaze seemed to settle suddenly and Norman turned to face his line of sight, finding that he was staring at the fridge. 

A few child-like drawings were hung up with animal-shaped magnets. Norman observed each one carefully - a smiling blue-eyed Ethan, a woman with hazel eyes and short hair, Madison on what appeared to be a motorbike - and stopped as he reached the last one on the far right, near the stainless steel handle. It was a man with a scar on his right cheek and a hard gaze, looking off to the side. His brows were furrowed, as if scrutinizing whatever he was looking at. Norman recognized the photograph the drawing was modeled after. It was taken some time shortly after the case was closed, before his interview on Let’s Talk Tonight. 

When he looked back at Ethan, he found him staring at the agent intently. He couldn’t figure out if Ethan was trying to crack the case himself with such a soul-chilling stare or if he was simply openly observing him, comparing his features to that of the drawing.

“Shaun’s gone through a lot in twelve years. He lost an older brother, had his parents divorce, lost the close relationship with his father, and was promptly kidnapped and nearly drowned.” Ethan’s eyes were cold, calculating and if Norman didn’t know better, he would assume he was being threatened. “The last thing he needs to hear is that he might lose his father too. I hope you understand when I ask you to keep this between us.”

Norman directed his gaze back to the drawing on the fridge. “I’ll do what I can to make sure nothing happens to you, Ethan. We’ll find out what’s happening before you have the time to warry over it.”

“I wouldn’t promise anything yet, agent,” he bitterly remarked.

“It’s not a promise. Just something like a personal mantra,” Norman replied, idly taking a sip from his mug. He’d be found bloody and bruised before allowing any other victims or their families experience more harm due to the losses the case never ceased producing. “If I keep that in the back of my mind as I work, I have no reason to give up. Not that I would.” Norman downed the last of his coffee, feeling the beverage burn down his throat as he stood from his seat. “I should be going.”

“Mr. Jayden?” A small voice came from behind him and Ethan’s eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of the source of the voice. “You’ll stop them from hurting my dad, right? I can’t do it myself, I don’t think.” 

Norman exhaled sharply.  _ God, the kid heard everything.  _ He stared into Shaun’s bright hazel eyes, eyes keen on getting a proper answer from the agent. He crouched down to his height and held his gaze steadily, giving him a curt nod. 

“I’ll do everything I can, bud.” Shaun smiled sadly, seeming to understand that there was a possibility that his father would be hurt regardless. “In the meantime, look after each other for me, huh? I can have the captain send down some officers to watch over the building entrance if you’d like.” 

“We’d appreciate that, Jayden. Thank you,” came Ethan’s soft response from behind him. Norman reached out and nudged Shaun’s chin with a knuckle. 

“Chin up. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“Thank you for catching the killer, agent. You saved us.” Shaun’s sudden mention of the Origami Killer had both men reeling. Norman glanced back at Ethan, who stared back at a loss of words to keep his son from bringing up other intrusive topics of discussion. 

Norman turned back and slowly stood from his crouched position. “All in a day’s work.” He gently took hold of the boy’s shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze. “Don’t give me a reason to come and do it again though, stay safe.” 

“Ok Shaun, Agent Jayden needs to get back to work.” Ethan ushered them out of the kitchen, waving his arms towards the living room. 

Shaun giggled, racing off towards his room and yelling, “Bye Mr. Jayden!” Norman smiled, perhaps one of the first few genuine smiles he’d worn in weeks. He wasn’t sure how the kid was able to remain so optimistic and easygoing despite the unknown threat attempting to steal away everything they’d worked so hard to keep. It could be that Shaun was just as able to hide behind his bubbly eagerness as a means to keep the worry off Ethan’s mind as Ethan was when it came to Shaun. 

“We never got the chance to thank you properly, you know.” Ethan spoke up once Shaun’s laughter died down and he settled onto his next activity. “Shaun seems to have his priorities in order.”

“He’s a lot smarter than we give him credit. I think you should be worried.” They continued walking across the living room, reaching the front door as Norman spoke. “But ah… you shouldn’t feel like you need to thank me. It was just a spur of the moment decision. I saw you were at risk of getting shot and I reacted.”

Norman turned around to face Ethan, who was staring at him with narrowed eyes. “Are you serious? Don’t tell me you’re trying to brush this off like it means nothing. Norman, Shaun and I would be dead if you hadn’t been there. I could never hope to repay you for something like that.”

Norman tensed. This was the first time Ethan dropped the formalities and used his first name to address him. This was a matter beyond professionalism and uptight titles to him. 

“You’re welcome, Ethan,” Norman gently spoke, voice struggling not to waver. 

“Even though this was awful news, thank you for coming by to tell me. Please…  If anything comes up, let us know.”

“Of course.”

They stood at the entryway for a moment, unspoken words passing between their held eye contact. 

_ Stay safe.  _ Norman stepped out into the hallway of the condo. 

_ Only if you do too.  _ Ethan watched him as he gave a small nod of farewell. 

_ You know me, I’m a magnet for danger.  _ He gave him a small wave and gently closed the door after him.

_ I wouldn’t be so worried if I didn’t already know that.  _ Norman breathed a deep sigh, trying to ignore the leaves crunching under his feet as he stepped away from the door and into the hallway. 

_ You’d be worried regardless.  _ Ethan grinned as his son poked his head out of his bedroom door. 

_ Then just try to stay alive, okay?  _ Norman stepped out into the crisp November air and tucked his hands into his pockets as he crossed the street.

_ I can do that.  _ A weak noise left Ethan’s throat as the gravity of the situation finally fell on him. While cleaning up the kitchen, he felt a sob rumble out of his chest. He stopped running the water and placed the uncleaned plate back in the sink so he could close his eyes and choke back the next cry that trembled in his throat. 

_ See you soon.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's something brewing and I don't know if either of these fine gentlemen are prepared for it. >:)
> 
>  
> 
> I also wanted to take this moment to clarify a few things:
> 
> Hassan, the father we meet during Scott's chapter "Hassan's Shop," has no canon last name so I had to come up with one that was relatively believable. It's speculated that Hassan is Persian so I used a Persian last name, hope that's alright. 
> 
> You'll have to bear with me on Shaun's uncanny ability to draw people and have them clearly recognizable by complete strangers. I know it's not probable especially since we've seen the extent of Shaun's abilities in-game, but let's just assume he's an artistic prodigy for the sake of this story. 
> 
> Next chapter'll be longer than the last two, taking time to look deeper into Norman’s thoughts after that emotional "reunion.”
> 
>  
> 
> Also wanted to say thanks for the kudos! I'd love to hear what you all think so far so don't be scared to say hi in the comments too. :)


	3. Statements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I struggled to sort through my own thoughts, but finally realized that the only person more willing to put themselves on the line couldn't do so this time around.

 

November 9, 2011  
9:22 AM  
50 Days

 

The precinct was just as dreary and loud as he remembered it. Clacks of keyboards and ringing of office phones littered his senses as Norman slowly made his way across the office space. Not much could change in a month, but the atmosphere was permeated with a lingering cold that refused to leave despite the radiators running throughout the entire building. He could blame that on the chill of the wind and the inability for the building to heat up properly during the transitional period of seasons when it was cold, but not quite cold enough. 

Charlene was still idly typing away at her desk in the reception area, just as he remembered. Norman smirked slightly as he realized that Captain Perry’s door was wide open and if he leaned to the side to peer in, he’d see that most of the office was empty save for a few pieces of furniture. It warmed the pit of his stomach where an uneasiness tended to settle to know that the case brought some changes to the station. Perry’s corrupted leadership and Blake’s eagerness to frame the first viable suspect raised a lot of eyebrows when the case came to light. He looked over his shoulder towards Carter’s desk and saw that his things were still there, but it seemed as though no one had occupied the seat in days due the uncanny neatness. 

“Agent Jayden,” Charlene greeted, finally noticing him when she felt a lingering presence near her desk. “We heard that you’d be arriving much earlier today. I hope you didn’t have any trouble getting here.”

“No, nothing like that, thank you.” He failed to mention his impromptu visit to the Mars residence. “I see there have been some changes since I was last here.”

Charlene gave him a sly, knowing smile. “Captain Perry has been permanently let go while Lieutenant Blake is on temporary leave. I think you already knew that, though. Please, follow me and I’ll show you to your office.” Norman fully expected to be given the same office, but was pleasantly surprised when Charlene walked in the opposite direction, towards the meeting rooms. She walked past the hallway that led to an interrogation room and stopped at a door marked “Office.” 

“If you need anything, you just let me know. We’re still working out a few things in the captain’s absence so you’ll have an assigned partner soon. I’ll send Ash over so you can get caught up.” With that, she left him to his own devices. He was greeted with a similar layout to his previous office upon opening the door, but it was more taken care of. There were windows that looked into the office from the hallway so at least he wouldn’t feel as isolated as he had before. Then again, perhaps the privacy was preferable given his… circumstances. Regardless, he could appreciate it when the precinct was more trusting of his presence this time around. 

“Jayden, good to see you,” Ash greeted him as he walked past the windows and stood in the doorway to his office. He looked more tired than he did when they previously met, eyes shadowed by dark bags and smile a little too tight. A manilla folder was held at his side.  

“Likewise,” Norman carefully replied, eyeing him warily for a moment as he paused in observing his office. It was difficult to discern whether or not Ash’s statement was genuine. 

“Getting comfortable again, I see,” Ash remarked, giving him a hint of a grin. Norman figured he was uneasy about how to approach the subject of his previous partnership with Blake. At some point, Ash became Norman’s replacement in Blake’s wing of the investigation, but Norman hoped there would be no hard feelings between the two.

“As comfortable as it gets. Don’t feel too put off by my being back, Ash. We don’t have to work against each other just because TV dramas suggest it,” he chuckled airily and turned away from his office to look at Ash properly. 

“That’s what we all hope for, Jayden. Maybe this time around we’ll get it right.” He took a few steps into his office and placed the file he was holding on the single desk facing the far wall. “I assume you’ll want to get started as soon as possible. Here’s what we’ve gathered from the previous investigation. Oddly enough, Madison Paige mentioned that Scott Shelby burned some evidence by the time she arrived at his apartment. I’m not sure how relevant that may be or where he collected the evidence, but it might be a good place to start searching.” 

“Thanks for the information,” Norman thanked, eyes and hands quickly drawn to the file.

“Sure thing. I’ll be your supporting officer during the case so you just come talk to me if you find anything I breezed over.” Ash excused himself, noticing the intense, furrowed brows that accompanied Jayden’s expression as his focus centered on the file. Norman made a noncommittal noise in response and sat down at the tan-colored desk. 

It was admittedly far too long since Norman worked with paper files, but slowly running his ungloved finger down the page felt more comfortable than making exaggerated gestures in the air. The first page was a summary of the previous case, which Norman quickly skimmed over. He opened up to a page with a small picture of Madison in the top right corner. It was a summary of her statement, delivered three days after Shaun Mars was saved. Unable to sit in on her delivery due to the multitude of conferences and the construction of the report for his side of the investigation, he had to settle for reading it instead. 

**_It is October 10, 2011._ **

**_Ms. Paige was involved with the investigation leading up to Shaun Mars’ rescue, meeting up with Ethan Mars in the middle of his trials. She is unable to recall which of the trials he completed when he was found, but claims that he was moderately wounded and had some minor burns upon meeting him at the Crossroads Motel._ **

Norman skipped ahead a bit, since the summary was incredibly detailed and simply filled in the previously gray areas of the case. He was less interested in her side of the story and more interested in what new information she had to offer. 

**_Ann Sheppard was able to remember the name of her second son, Scott Sheppard, through the use of reminders of her past (Ms. Paige claims to have used a dog origami figure, an orchid, and a photograph of her sons). With this, she was able to find the name of the family that adopted him: Shelby. Paige located his apartment and broke in, thinking it was empty. She found a trash can full of ashes, what she assumed was evidence gone up in flames. There is no way to confirm this, as all was lost in the burning of the apartment. Paige found a hidden room behind a wardrobe where Shelby cultivated fresh orchids, folded origami figures, typed up cryptic letters for the fathers of the victims, and monitored Shaun Mars through a portable personal computer._ **

**_Shelby found her as she was leaving the wardrobe, threatening her back into the room with a gun. She escaped by breaking through the wall into his bathroom and made her way to the kitchen, where she hid in the fridge to survive the blast of a pressurized gas canister sitting on Shelby’s desk. Upon leaving the building, Paige claims to have called FBI agent Norman Jayden to tell him the location of the killer. She says the agent responded quickly, telling her he already knew the information she was relaying._ **

Sure enough, everything seemed to check out. When the crime scene investigators arrived at the apartment a day after her statement, they were able to confirm that there was a gas canister that exploded the main structure, but were unable to salvage the remains of whatever had been in the trash can as it, too, had gone up in flames. 

“He musta been going around town collecting evidence from the families.” Norman heaved a frustrated sigh. Life would have been easier if Shelby hadn’t fallen into those grinders. Maybe they would have gotten him to eventually crack and confess to everything he’d done himself. It seemed that he was the only one who knew what happened on his end. “Deja vu, running in circles,” he muttered. 

He turned onto the next page and was met with a picture of Ethan Mars, solemn eyes and bruised forehead on display. He carefully picked through his statement and found his stomach clenching with unease at the descriptions he provided about each of the previously unknown trials. He drove for five minutes against traffic on a busy highway. He crawled on top of broken glass and wedged his body between live electric wires. He cut off the last section of his pinkie. He killed a man. He drank a vial of what was supposed to be poison, but ended up being a sick trick to prove a point. 

_ He was willing to kill himself for his son…  _ Norman covered his mouth with one hand and leaned his elbow against his desk, staring hard at the papers now scattered across the tan surface.  _ There was nothing he wouldn’t have done to save him.  _ An unrivaled determination and unresolved grief is what set Ethan apart from the other fathers Shelby chose. A swell of admiration clenched his hand tighter around his mouth. In his fever to find a father willing do do what his had not, Shelby attempted to erase the traces he left behind in the years he kidnapped the victims, failing to foresee how many people were capable of saving Shaun Mars. Regrettably enough, none of them got off unscathed. 

Norman knew he was far from alright. It was relatively easy to assume the agent was basking in post-case solving nirvana, but his state of mind was much closer to that of delirium. With a new outlet to focus most of his energy and time into, he knew it would become easier to manage the excessive shakes and skull-splitting headaches. This was not a comfort at all, however. It just meant that when the case was over, the symptoms would come back full force. It was destructive of him to keep it hidden from his superiors, but a fear seized him whenever he thought of seeking help. They could revoke his badge and send him to rehab for his addiction. They could lock him up in a psychiatric ward for his reaction to ARI. Neither option was optimal, but incredibly, frighteningly realistic. He wasn’t sure if he feared losing his job more than being trapped in a padded room alone with only miniature tanks to comfort him. 

Going cold turkey wasn’t the best idea, admittedly, but his hallucination was right. If he overindulged, he’d end up dead. Flushing those tubes down the toilet was like releasing the chokehold of a masked killer but at the same time handing him a knife in the other hand. There was no easy way to escape the grave he dug himself upon accepting the offer to use ARI. Norman smiled bitterly, remembering how excited he was to have the chance to be using such advanced technology. At the time, he would’ve done anything to please his superiors. Now, he’d do anything to take it all back. 

He couldn’t begin to imagine what kinds of traumas accompanied the mind of Ethan Mars. Sure, Norman had seen his fair share of gruesome crime scenes and was constantly plagued by nightmares of particularly unsatisfactory experiences, but he couldn’t fathom what horrors kept Ethan awake at night. He knew parts of it—the visit to his psychologist explained some of the effects of his tragic past—but no one could tell him how Ethan Mars feels about the sound of rain or the dread that befalls him when he walks by a park. Even worse, there must be nights where he lies awake, unable to shake the ghost of burns, cuts, and the crack of a gunshot when he’s forced to relive the trials. 

Norman shook his head faintly, eyes focusing again on the papers in front of him. He didn’t realize how far his mind had wandered, but glancing at his watch told him he’d only been in the office for at least twenty minutes. He looked back at the page in front of him and almost as if afraid to anger the non-existent looming figure over his shoulder, he restrained himself from looking back at the picture in the corner. He was afraid if he stared too long, he’d lose track of time once more. 

He found this happening a lot more often than he was used to. There was a time when he frequently spaced out while reviewing evidence, falling asleep in the interface and waking up to a burning sensation in his temples. His hands shook in his lap as he tried his best to ignore the crude remarks coming from the voice behind him. 

_ “What are you so afraid of? You have nothing to fear, but yourself! How upsetting…”  _ Norman leaned forward, holding his head between his hands. There had to be something wrong with him. What was he so scared of? Ethan Mars was just a normal father who loved his son. There wasn’t anything else to mull over, but why, why— _ “Oh, maybe he’s what you wish you were? Ain’t that just precious?” _ —why did his heart hurt for his turmoil? 

Deep breaths filled the otherwise silent office. He could feel the tickle of blood on his upper lip, but dared to stare into the blurred image of his grim blue eyes and recognized the same cold look from when he had scrutinized him in his kitchen. It could be that Ethan was just as confused about him as he was confused about Ethan.  _ “He knows exactly who you are, Norman. No doubt about it. He sees right through you. You can’t even look him in the eyes half the time!”  _

“That’s not true!” he helplessly spoke into the air of his dusty office. “I… I just want to make sure they’re safe, it’s my job to… to take care of…” The thought dawned on him that he was speaking to no one, but himself. He swallowed thickly and looked down at his vibrating palms, clenching his hands into fists. “I need to make sure the fathers don’t have to suffer ehnymore.”  

His gaze hardened as he looked back at the case file. This wasn’t about him or the Mars Family. He had to get his head on straight and pay attention. This murderer was putting multiple lives on the line to comply with some sick vendetta against those that couldn’t live up to Shelby’s standards. There was no way of knowing if they were attempting to wipe the slate clean or didn’t care if a father had succeeded in Shelby’s twisted game. There was no way of knowing if Ethan Mars was on the kill list or not. Regardless, he had to set his sights on the remaining fathers and keep them from coming to the same end as their sons, at the hands of a disillusioned, traumatized killer. 

He knew there were a lot of files and evidence to look over, so he decided on scooping up a cup of coffee, covering the hallway windows of his office, and settling in the slightly cushioned seat at his desk. His fingers drummed for countless spans of time as he flipped through the file and once he was finished, he went and collected additional information for external files saved digitally. Charlene printed the files he needed for him and after retrieving another cup of coffee, returned to his office. Charlene watched on with a worried glance, lightly tapping at the keyboard without actually typing anything. That agent was always diving head first into his work. She wondered if he ever slept and if he did not, she feared there were more than just a couple of reasons why. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, what a chapter. This one took me a while to put together since it's hard to read into Norman's character without having to make assumptions yourself. I definitely think he's the type to put himself at risk at the expense of others, regardless of whether or not that results in his death. We see a lot of that in the game especially cause this goof fights a dude that looks like he might weigh 100 pounds more than Norman. It's all that muscle, man. 
> 
> This chapter's gonna be wholesome. Ha, no. there won't be any angst. Why would you ask such a thing?


	4. Uneasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had a hard time believing a man could fall so deeply into his own world until I saw it over and over again. I'd seen multiple examples of it, yet this time had hauntingly different undertones that reminded me of what might have become of him.

November 10, 2011

11:46 AM

49 Days

 

Loud laughter filled the condo as Madison chased Shaun around the living room. Her wide smile broke only to give small growls as she neared him, spurring him into a gravity-defying jump on and over the couch to escape her evil clutches.

“You’ll never catch me alive!” he yelled, racing around the dining table and looping back around to the living room. 

“We’ll see about that,” Madison threatened in a low voice, a mirth in her chocolate-colored irises that gave away how much effort she was really putting into trying to catch him.

She suddenly sprung to life, a tiger racing through the jungle with leaps and bounds only supported by powerful muscle and skin rippling with strength. Her arms latched around Shaun’s small frame and she brought him to her chest, lifting him into the air and spinning in place. Laughter echoed and bounced off the walls of the room and they only died down when she gently placed him back on the ground. The last of their giggles subsided as Madison turned her attention to Shaun’s sunken eyes and pale complexion.

“Food’s ready, you two!” Ethan’s voice called from the kitchen. Shaun quickly reanimated to life and bounded over to his father, looking forward to refilling the tank. Madison stood, watching on with an amalgamation of conflicting emotions overcoming her. Shaun’s life was a connecting tie between all the things she now valued in her life. Her life, her job, and her devotion was all caused by Shaun’s existence and yet, the child did not benefit from his own troubles as much as it seemed that the rest of the world did. News reporters and money-hungry paparazzi swarmed like vultures and picked off the dead meat from his bones, sucking the serenity with which the kid once lived. Madison suddenly lost her appetite.

She slowly walked into the kitchen where father and son stood side-by-side, scooping mashed potatoes and fried chicken onto plates. Ethan’s smile never wavered at his son’s side, but Madison could see that with each movement each made, the other watched on with bated breath. Whatever ease they hoped to live with hadn’t formed and it made her uneasy to think that perhaps they would never live with ease.

“There’s plenty to go around, Madison. You staying for lunch?” Ethan’s voice cut into her thoughts and she plastered a smile onto her face before responding.

“Sure, as long as it won’t give me food poisoning.”

“Ha, very funny. My cooking isn't that bad.”

“Dad, you burned the spaghetti last week,” Shaun intervened.

“Hey, don’t take her side!” He wore a face of mock hurt. Madison shook her head lightly, a genuine grin stretching her lips as she grabbed a clean plate from the rack beside the sink and helped herself to Ethan’s admittedly decent cooking.

As ravenous as Madison could be with her food, it was no surprise that Shaun was the first to finish. He eagerly rinsed his plate before clanging it into the dishwasher. Ethan chuckled and hugged him to his side as he walked up to his father.

“What’s got you so riled up, son?”

“I just gotta finish some more drawings. I think I wanna draw Ms. Lockhart next.”

“I think she’d appreciate that, that’s a good idea. Why don’t you go get started while Madison and I finish up?” Shaun nodded and pecked Madison on the cheek as he passed by her before leaving for his room. Again, Madison found herself watching after him with fond, sad eyes.

“That boy has gotta be the sweetest there is,” she sighed, another smile ghosting her lips. It wasn’t long before she realized that Ethan was watching her carefully, face stoic and shoulders tense. The air around them ran cold much too quickly.

“Thanks for coming over, Mads,” Ethan finally spoke, plopping a mound of potatoes into his mouth.

“Of course I came over. I don’t think I’ve seen you two since, well…”

“Yeah.” Madison silently observed as Ethan continued to eat. Her plate wasn’t yet empty, but the sudden change in demeanor of her friend demanded her attention. Ethan had always been the quiet, contemplative type, taking a few moments before responding to her and spending more time in his head than the world around him. Imagine her shock when he remained silent, picking at his food and continuing to eat as if a conversation were not about to begin.

This is when Madison realized her friend’s behavior was particularly worrying. In the handful of moments she spent with Ethan, he only ever closed himself off when anything awful had occurred. His eyes tended to give away what he was feeling, windows blue when the sky was clear and gray when a storm was brewing. They hardened into cold balls of ice, distant and unseeing as he stared into his plate.

“Ethan?” she carefully asked. “Is something wrong?”

As he looked up to face her, his eyebrows furrowed in what she could only assume was confusion. “I’m… having a rough time lately.”

She nodded encouragingly. “I can't even begin to imagine what it must be like, Ethan, after everything you’ve gone through. It can’t-”

“Mads, they re-opened the case. Someone’s been killing the fathers.” And in an instant, it became apparent that they may never live with the ease they so much deserved. There was nothing she could say or do to assuage them into the peace others took for granted, so she stared in shock for a heartbeat before she took his hand and gently squeezed.

There, she felt the roughened skin of his palms and swallowed thickly. Though Ethan refused to look back at her, she knew her feeble attempt at comfort was the only thing he wanted to ask of her. Anything else would be too much to ask for.

He slowly removed his hand from her grasp and set both to cover his mouth as he leaned his elbows on the table. He stared at the tablecloth between them. Madison wearily allowed him his space to think, but couldn’t stop the tear from rolling down her cheek when she realized her friend was holding back his own set of tears behind the gray, cloudless skies of his windows.

 

~*~

 

November 10, 2011

12:12 PM

49 Days

 

“I can’t fuckin’ believe this,” Norman growled under his breath, slamming the car door as he stepped out into the bitter autumn air. He naturally spent most of his night shuffling through evidence after evidence, only just making it to his hotel room by six in the morning. When he received a call from Charlene at around ten, he was less than cooperative. Her words, however, immediately had him wide awake.

“Agent Jayden! Over here,” he heard someone call him. He turned to find an unfamiliar face. A relatively young woman dressed in casual office attire waved him over to where she stood, deep brown eyes bright and inquisitive. She had a badge pinned to her chest. He observed her silently as he walked towards her. She had dark brown hair stained blonde at the tips and twisted into a braid that swept over her shoulder. She extended her hand out to him as he neared her and he instinctively took it in greeting. “Detective Alicia Iroz. Pleasure to meet you. I was recently assigned to the case you are working on and would really appreciate your help in closing it up for good. 

Norman nodded respectfully. Agents sent by the federal government weren’t meant to take over cases under the jurisdiction of a police station unless absolutely necessary, in cases where the threat was at a federal level. Finally having a partner would hopefully mean they could close up this case in a more timely manner.

“It’s good to have someone else on the case. I wish the same.” She smiled pleasantly at his words and nodded towards the building close to where they stood.

“Shall we?”

Already, he felt his mood lighten at the prospect of having a level-headed partner this time around. From what he could surmise so far, she expressed the type of personality that was personable and professional. Making their way to the apartment Charlene told them to visit, he felt his mood sour once more as the stench became more and more prominent.

“Holy hell,” he heard Detective Iroz mutter under her breath as she covered her nose with an arm.

All seemed normal in appearance as they stepped through the doorway. The coroner was already on-site and crouched by a lump on the ground that Norman could only assume was the source of the smell. Taking a moment to disregard the body, he veered off to the left and looked around the living room as Iroz made a beeline for the coroner.

“Detective Iroz, nice of you to join us. I see you found the fed.” The coroner greeted nonchalantly, examining the body’s fingernails with a gloved hand.

“Ah, yes, Agent Jayden seems pleasant so far, thank you.” She rolled her eyes and crouched beside the man. Norman smirked at their interaction and stared at a photograph of a man, woman, and child hanging on the wall near a shoe rack by the entrance.

“How nice. You’re not here for idle chat, though, are you?” The man stood and carefully took off his gloves, enveloping one with the other and tying it off. “This here is Allan Winter, in case neither of you understood what Charlene meant when she said this would be part of your case. 

“Alright, Harry, cut the smartass chatter and talk like a normal professional.” Norman turned with a raised eyebrow in their direction at Iroz’s icy tone. “Allan Winter, got it. What are you thinking so far on cause of death?”

The coroner stared at her for a few moments with what might have been hatred in his eyes, but it quickly vanished as he refocused on the task at hand.

“Going by the smell, you would assume he’s been dead for weeks, but you’d be wrong. Receptionist in the lobby claims he saw him yesterday afternoon. If that’s true, we’re looking at a death that resulted in rapid decomposition of the body. My best guess would be poison. 

Iroz nodded in understanding, turning her attention to the body. The man was nearly unrecognizable as the skin on his face was beginning to recede and expose the tip of his nose and the high bones of his cheeks. At the mention of poison, Norman’s stomach churned. Jude was shot. Hassan was reportedly killed in a motor “accident.” Now, Allan was poisoned.

“The trials,” Norman said out loud as he walked towards the other two. Before he was about to say something else, Iroz quickly looked up and shushed him.

“Not here, let’s discuss this back in the office. For now, keep looking around out here while I look in the bedroom.” She stood, took one last glance at the body and made her way towards the walled-in room. Norman watched her as she disappeared through the doorway. Whatever he was about to say may have been slightly sensitive to the case, but the only other person in the room was also part of the investigation. He glanced at this so-called “Harry,” finding that he was staring back with an annoyed glare. 

Norman could both sense and contextually assume there was tension he couldn’t begin to relieve so he simply turned away from the man and did as his job required of him. Whatever had occurred between those two was not his conflict to resolve nor was it his qualm to have.

Similar to Jude’s apartment, the walls were stained and very little maintenance was being provided. As disheartening as this was, perhaps it was an occurrence worth noting. These men were desperate, finding any open space to latch onto when the going got tough. It unnerved him how easily one event could crumble the life of a man within seconds, causing them to fall to their knees and beg for a semblance of the life they lived before it was completely torn to smithereens.

A few dirty dishes were strewn about the space, one on the kitchen counter, a few on the kitchen table, two on the coffee table in the living room, all with remnants of unfinished food that was beginning to mold. If James Winter had been dead for only a few hours, a day at most, then he was either an extremely lazy individual or hadn't been in his apartment for long.

Among the plates of unfinished food, multiple key objects of a home were missing. Despite there being grains of coffee stored in the dark oak cupboard, there was no coffee maker to be found. A thin layer of dust coated the countertops and inside the grimy white of the refrigerator was an expired carton of milk along with a few individually wrapped slices of American cheese. Norman took a deep breath and exhaled sharply, starting to think that this man had merely rented this apartment for appearances. Johnny Winter was the sixth victim, two before Jeremy Bowles. It was about a year since the man might have had his own chance to save his son, so why was he only just turning up dead in a manner that resembled the last trial?

Harry’s hardened stare followed the agent as he wandered throughout the small space, taking in detail after wretched detail. He watched as the agent’s hand occasionally lifted and twitched as if he were controlling something in the air. It might have been some sort of nervous tick, but it was unlikely that a criminal profiler had much to be nervous about after years in the same line of work. He decided to store this information for later use instead of bringing it up at a moment when he would be chewed out by Alicia’s biting words.

Speaking of, Iroz wandered out of the bedroom and nodded at Norman when he looked up at the sound of her heavy combat boots on the wood panels.

“I’ve seen all there is to see. You about done?” she asked. Norman nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“I’ve picked up on a few things. You might like to talk about them back in the office,” he responded. He stole a look in Harry’s general direction where he was beginning to pack up his own belongings. In a lower voice, he said, “In private.”

She appreciated the agent’s effortlessness in reading her subtle cues. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

The pair stepped outside the room without so much as a goodbye and quickly made their way down the stairs into the lobby. Iroz breathed deeply, bowing her head.

“Bad blood between you two?” Norman asked gently, hoping he wasn't prying too deeply.

“You could say that. Not a good time to talk about it though. Any ideas from what you’ve seen?” She quickly changed the topic of discussion, a mechanism Norman could allow her to use just this once. He looked at her for a moment longer and she thought he might press her further when he suddenly looked away, beckoning her to follow him to his car.

“Allan was either an incredibly busy, perhaps lazy man or his apartment was hardly his own,” he spoke. “The amount of mold and missing commonplace items is uncanny. It could be that he really had no care about his personal hygiene and well-being, but to live that way for a year since his son’s death?”

“I hear you, yeah. I get the idea Mr. Winter had a lot going on in the last few weeks and just as he was coming home, his body gave in. But isn’t poison meant to kill upon entering the body almost immediately?”

Norman paused in his walking. A woman with black hair wearing a dark gray jacket was leaning on the hood of his car. Iroz noticed his careful demeanor and looked in the direction where his eyes had faltered.

“Who says he had to be poisoned outside of his home?” Norman asked the detective softly, out of earshot of the newcomer.

The woman’s head turned as she heard the scuffing of their shoes on pavement. Her eyes brightened a fraction and she immediately stood straight. She traced her hands down the length of her coat and ran her fingers through her damp, dark hair.

“Agent Jayden,” she greeted, voice strong at the beginning until it cracked at the last syllable. Her eyes shifted to Iroz before looking back at Norman. “My name is Lauren Winter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH it's finally here. I'm so sorry it took me more than a month to get this out. Summer comes with freedom, but also a little too much to do with that freedom. I'm not giving up yet though, don't fret! 
> 
> We have a certain somebody joining the story today. This should be useful! Right?


	5. A Series of Helpful Hints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it came to him, I had a difficult time sorting through what I felt was my responsibility and what I truly wanted. At what point was I starting to do these things because I cared so deeply for his well-being and couldn't care less about the paycheck and fame?

November 11, 2011

8:25 AM

48 Days

 

Norman blearily stared at the screen of his laptop, tracing his digits across the trackpad aimlessly. If there was ever a more useless time to be awake, he wouldn’t believe it existed. Since he got home at 2 AM, he’d been awake, putting together his thoughts and collecting what little he had left of his senses.

Yesterday had been eye-opening, to say the least.  _ Lauren Winter… what an enigma. _ From what she described once he and Iroz invited her to the police station, it seemed that she was in a blurry predicament. Scott Shelby was slowly, but surely becoming more and more detestable the more time Norman spent devolving further into his case. Lauren not only aided him in his pseudo-investigation, but was manipulated into believing he was a good man. Norman recalled the confusion glazing over her hardened brown eyes when she described their parting words, how he promised he’d tell her everything when it all blew over. 

“What was he supposed to say in a situation like that? I killed your son and I’m sorry?” she had said incredulously, hands flying up in rage. “As if that would have changed what he did… as if… as if…” 

Detective Iroz had to step in to calm her hysterical hyperventilating. 

When she finished rattling out her emotions to two complete strangers, she started describing what she’d unknowingly done to aid the serial killer: gave him incriminating evidence, helped him attempt to frame Gordi Kramer’s son, helped him evade the police after a hands-on murder, the list went on. There were parts left undescribed, but both he and the detective could sense her disgust and found it easier not to provoke another bout of outrage. 

Strangely enough, when asked about Allan Winter, she coldly responded, “That man did nothing when my Johnny disappeared. He decided to run off and let the Earth swallow him whole. I didn’t even know he was still alive until I heard he was found dead on the news.”

“The news? Oh god, don’t tell me the vultures already have their hands on case-sensitive info,” Iroz groaned.

“I’m not exactly a low-profile agent anymore, detective. As soon as the media gets wind of my return to Pennsylvania, they’ll want to know why. Follow the trail of bodies and you have your answer.” Norman’s cool response warranted an unwavering stare from Lauren and a quirked eyebrow from Iroz.

“Well, excuse me, hot-shot. Maybe we’d better keep you off the field for a while.”

Norman ran a hand down his face and furrowed his eyebrows at the carefully organized notes spread across multiple sources, some typed into a document, other parts entered into a spreadsheet. The blinking cursor taunted his inability to focus and mocked his bone-deep exhaustion. At least he knew for sure what drew the killer out of hiding, thanks to Lauren: the need to cover his tracks.

The letter, the shoebox of origami figures, old cell phones, all of it could be linked back to him. Lauren said he used a specific typewriter to address the letters and was even a subscriber to an origami magazine. Even though he’d carefully used his deceased twin’s name in place of his own, that could also be traced back to him. All of it was just under everyone’s nose. There was evidence in any direction one searched. Madison’s investigation led her through his dealings with Paco while his own entertwined with hers through Jackson Neville. It was uncanny how plentiful the evidence was, so much so that multiple people were able to expose him with just a little more prodding. As for this case? The evidence was yet to be found and hardly anybody could begin to fathom what the motive behind this one could be with so little to work off of.  

In his mind, Norman backtracked to the simple facts of the current case. Of the fathers that weren’t killed during the trials, only five had survived. Ethan claimed to have seen a corpse as he crawled through shards of glass during the butterfly trial, as he called it, but it hadn’t been confirmed. It was difficult for others to believe him in his delirium. He was known to black out in times of extreme stress after all.  _ Is it a stretch to believe his word?  _ Regardless of whether or not he believed him, it was a fact that only five of the fathers were traceable until three of them were killed. If this corpse was still in tact, however, wouldn’t he have had to be Jude, father of the most recent victim at the time? Norman shook his head, beginning to confuse himself. No, it was possible the man was the father of Kaleb O’Shea, seventh victim found in late September of this year. 

Norman’s gaze intensified as he raced through his detailed descriptions and the occasional photo uploaded to his network, courtesy of the PPD. Photos were graphic, each gruesomely unconcerned with the privacy granted to most families after the death of a family member. Jude’s gunshot wound was on full display, cranial fractures and cracked skin impartial to the viewer. Allan’s rapidly receding flesh was tinted green and caused the skin around his eyes to sink so it froze his face into a forever shocked expression, tendons stretching around his unhinged jaw as he stared into the camera. As for Hassan, nothing much was left to recover. What was left of him were chunks of flesh on a car window and a spattered mess of blood steadily washing away in the bitter autumn rain. Norman simply sighed, scrolling past their pictures and to his neatly compiled numerical data. 

Jude Bowles… found dead on October 6. Hassan Khadem… confirmed dead October 27 after an autopsy. Allan Winter… November 10, as he had been alive the day before. Norman’s heart dropped suddenly as he entered the dates into a work email-linked calendar. 

Thursday. 

The murders all fell on a Thursday. Sporadic. Yes, two were three weeks apart and the last two were two weeks apart, but it was something - a pattern, a modus operandi,  _ something.  _ Despite the grim events of the case, Norman felt a flicker of warmth in his chest. Relief flooded his veins and he jammed his fingers into his hair, bowing his head and heaving a small laugh from his parched throat. 

The Origami Killer case was different. He had patterns to go off of, a psychological profile compiled in the comfort of his office in DC. Some colleagues had even aided him in his quest for truth, taking their time to talk him through his own speculations, which brought him to the conclusions he made about why the victims’ faces were covered in mud and why the orchids and origami figures were found on their person. Here, in his stuffy hotel room, he couldn't fathom how he was supposed to save all these men from a fate they believed was reserved for their sons. The notion sickened him, wiping the grin he previously had on his face. In an instant, he had soured his own mood. 

Detective Iroz had been serious about keeping him off the field while the media coverage died down, telling him he should work from home and keep her updated about anything he came up with, assuring him she’d keep him in the loop. Naturally, he sent her an encrypted email linking her to his spreadsheets and document and titled the subject line, “Thursday Murderer,” playing off of the Origami Killer’s  _ incredibly  _ clever nickname. 

He yawned and closed the twenty-three tabs that were slowing down his laptop. Perhaps he could catch a bit of sleep despite how restless he felt. He knew he wouldn't be able to function well if he didn’t sleep, but after half an hour of wrestling with his concerning thoughts and endless echoes of undefeated demons, he huffed and sat up with the plush duvet covering his legs, chest and waist exposed to the crisp air-conditioned air. A chill swept down his spine as he focused on the rushing of water and wind whistling in place of the whirring of the building’s cooling system. 

“I gotta get some fresh air,” he mumbled. Russo mewled from his place at his side and Norman tiredly scrubbed the spot between his ears. He was glad he decided to bring him along this time around, knowing he’d need the company. He threw off the covers of his bed and stepped into his beige slippers. He idly made his way into the bathroom and kept his eyes off his own reflection as he entered the shower. It was a guilty belief of his that the water could somehow cleanse him of his drowsiness. After getting dressed in a casual blue button-up and iron-pressed gray slacks, he found himself strangely uncomfortable with having nothing to do that was directly related to the case. There hadn't been time for him to venture out into the city and discover what it was that charmed the citizens of Philadelphia, not that he had much time to really enjoy for himself, given the nature of the current case and how sensitive it was to time. Perhaps Iroz would second-guess her decision to bench him when she found the incentive to open his message. For now, he’d settle for familiarizing himself with the Thursday Murderer’s home base in a feeble attempt to convince himself it was alright to take a break. 

Norman would’ve smirked if he had the energy. He entered “cheesesteak shop near me”  into his iPhone 4s’s Maps application. As stereotypical as it was, there was something Philadelphia was well-known for that he’d wanted to try ever since he’d arrived. This was his chance to do so. He grabbed his keys and toed into his most casual black dress shoes before leaving the room, only barely remembering to grab his dark leather coat and let Russo know that he’d be back soon while on the way out.

 

~*~

 

November 11, 2011

10:31 AM

48 Days

 

The rich smell of cheese and seared meat was enough to assure him that his idea had been a good one. His mouth watered instantly at the thought of finally eating something after what felt like days and may as well have been. He couldn’t quite remember when he ate his last meal, which was a different issue to observe at a later time. 

His attention was on the bright menu above his head. The shop was quaint, quiet in a way that he hadn’t expected since Philly was always bustling with life during late mornings. There were a few patio tables and chairs in the small space, resembling the seating of a garden tea party with black tables that had large enough holes to get his fingers stuck in. The walls were painted a honey-colored orange and the only indication that the place was meant for dining was the opening in the furthest-facing wall that allowed the customers to view the cook as she prepared their subs and fried their fries. Long, vined plants hung from the ceiling and a few were long enough to brush the top of his head as he walked up to the cashier.

“Hello! Welcome to Steak n’ Shake, what can I getcha?” the young woman greeted, smile plastered onto her face and crow’s feet beginning to crinkle at the corners of her eyes. 

“Hey, I’m kinda new to philly cheesesteaks, just trying them out. What would you recommend?” Norman grinned easily, tension rolling off his shoulders as he eased into a new encounter that reminded him of a normalcy he hadn’t felt in weeks. 

The woman’s eyes brightened and the smile on her face widened into one that was more genuine. “Oh, wow! Well, thanks for coming to our dingy little sub shop. Ain’t much of an authentic Philly experience, but the cheesesteaks surely are,” she rambled, pausing for a moment to think. “Why not start off with The Classic for now? Cheese, steak, and sauteed onions and garlic.” 

“Sounds great,” Norman paused as well, glancing at her nametag before looking back at her and smiling. “Thank you for the recommendation, Rachel.”

Her smile faltered and she stuttered, “O-of course! I’ll add a side of chilli fries to that order, if you’re up for it.”

Norman nodded, digging for his wallet and handing her his card. He noted that the mention of her name had flustered her, causing her to not quite look him in the eyes the way she did at first. He hoped he hadn’t accidentally struck a nerve with her after doing so. He came to a sudden stop as he was making his way to the several tables around the brightly-lit shop. Perhaps he made her nervous? He glanced over his shoulder at where she had been and unsurprisingly, she was nowhere to be found. Norman was known for being rather clueless when it came to common sense matters, but this was a new low. 

He took a seat and allowed himself to melt into the cushion, finding that he was comfortable despite the harsh black metal digging into his shoulder blades. The greens of his eyes glistened as the orange light of the shop bathed him in warm light. The contrasting white light of the sunshine coming from the window immediately to his left submerged half his face in orange-tinted shadow while the other half was highlighted at the highest points of his face. If one were to find him here, one would never assume he was a man who’d seen death and struggled with an addiction as the peace that rolled off him in waves was contagious. When his order was called, he went to pick it up and sat back down in the same spot, but didn’t quite start eating. The exhaustion was beginning to make his consciousness ebb and flow between realities. Serenity washed over him in waves even as he listened to the sound of ARI’s interface scanning the environment, a woosh that lulled him into a false sense of security. His easy-going, casual demeanor became a testament to how unrecognizable he was, most apparent when a surprised voice shook him out of his dazed trance. 

“Norman? Is that you?” the voice asked. Norman opened his eyes and startled when he met clear blue eyes.

“Mr. Mars! Hello,” he responded, eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion, not expecting the man to make an appearance at such a completely random location. He quickly scanned his immediate environment and spotted Shaun Mars poking at the buttons of a vending machine in the corner with a wrinkled five dollar bill in his hand. At the sound of his father’s voice, however, he quickly turned and met Norman’s eyes. 

“Mr. Norman!” Shaun left the vending machine and forgot his previous mission, opting instead to greet the ever-so-interesting FBI profiler. “Hi!”

Norman grinned easily, replying, “Hey kid, how are ya? Glad to see you and your father out and about.” He tentatively glanced back at Ethan to gauge his reaction and his gaze seemed to harden slightly.  _ Woops.  _

“Yeah! Dad said it’d be good for us to go places outside of home. First, closer to home and then farther away.” He looked down at the money in his hand. “I’ll be right back!” He sped back to the vending machine and began his prodding once more. Norman smiled, watching him become enthralled with the activity, forgetting for a moment that Ethan was watching him intently. When he faced the man once more, he seemed hesitant to speak, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Norman, I hope this doesn’t sound rude, but I gotta know… why are you out here when you’re working a case? Did you get stuck?” The father wringed his hands in a nervous fidget, but kept his eyes focused on Norman when he sighed and forced a strained smile.

“Well, Mr. Mars, as it so happens, I just got done reviewing case notes all night. I’ve also been benched for a while for fear of the media taking wind of what's happened. That, and I just needed a break.”

Ethan nodded in understanding. “Sorry, sorry, I knew it would be rude to ask.”

“Not at all, Mr. Mars,” Norman bit out of a french fry and pushed the food to one side of his mouth. “You have a right to question me when you life’s at risk.”

Ethan nodded, but looked away to watch his son pull a soft drink out from the bottom of the machine. “Decided it was time we got out of the house. I… I was still hesitant about it, but a small sub shop close to home didn’t sound so bad.”

Norman wiped his mouth after taking a bite out of his sandwich. “Yeah, no, I completely understand. It’s good of you to realize you slowly have to become accustomed to the way things were, if not for you, then for Shaun’s sake. Though, I’d recommend thinking of yourself every so often as well.”

Shaun walked back to the pair of them before Ethan could reply, though he didn’t quite know how to respond to Norman’s concern. Shaun was happily slurping away at a bottle of Mountain Dew and looked between the two of them before grinning mischievously. 

“Hey, Dad, can we sit with Mr. Norman?” 

“If he’s alright with it, then sure, champ.” Ethan smiled easily and genuinely when it came to Shaun’s antics, Norman noted.

“I’ve got no problems with it. Join me if you’d like.” He took another bite of his sandwich. Shaun animatedly and excitedly plopped himself into the chair across from the profiler and Ethan pulled a third chair from another table to sit facing the window, on Norman’s right and Shaun’s left. 

For a split moment, the situation was awkward. Ethan busied himself with his hands to avoid staring at Norman eating his meal while Shaun watched the cars rush past from outside the window. Norman simply chewed in silence, observing the mannerisms between the two and how uncomfortable Ethan seemed to be compared to his son. 

“Dad always gets weird when I talk about you, Mr. Norman. Sorry if he’s not being nice.” Shaun apologized, having realized that his father wasn’t talking to Mr. Norman anymore.

“Shaun,” Ethan scolded, eyes widened with embarrassment. Norman laughed.

“Oh, really? Good to know…” Norman glanced sideways at the father who, in turn, avoided eye contact. 

“Mmm-hmm. I don’t know what kinda weird it is though. I just think he doesn't know how to talk to you like me.”

Ethan quickly exhaled through his nose and covered his face with his hands. “Shaun, please.”

“Well, at least there’s one Mars in the family who can keep up with a big, scary fed like me.” Norman joked, though perhaps the joke might have gone over the kid’s head.

“You’re big, but you’re not scary!” Shaun had been smiling, but suddenly, his face fell. He spilled a little bit of his drink on his shirt as it dribbled down his chin. “You’re like my hero. Dad’s number one, but you’re like number two. Then comes Maddy cause she helped Dad. But... “ Norman waited patiently as he attempted to sort through his own feelings. Ethan’s embarrassment was long forgotten as he heard his boy open up to the agent.  “But sometimes I get real scared. If you weren’t there, Dad could’ve gotten hurt. And maybe he wouldn’t have saved me because of that. I think about you chasing the bad guy away a lot, when Ms. Lockhart asks me what I’m thankful for. I dunno if Dad already said it, but thank you, Mr. Norman.”

It took all his willpower to not start tearing up at Shaun’s confession. Nonetheless, all he could really do was offer a lopsided grin and a, “Anytime, kid.”

Ethan was greatly affected by the scene and handed his son a spare napkin from the table. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up, son? So we can leave in a bit.” Shaun agreed and took the napkin with him to the one-room bathroom in the far corner of the shop. Ethan and Norman sat in silence for a few beats of time before either of them spoke, not really knowing how to address what just transpired. So instead of addressing that, Ethan retraced his steps and decided to clear the air.

“So you know, that “weirdness” Shaun was talking about is… well, the off-put feeling I get when I’m reminded of you. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll forever be grateful for what you’ve done for us, Norman. You cared about my son’s life in a way that was beyond what was expected for you and I’ll never forget that. But you know things…” Ethan swallowed thickly. “Things about me that no one else knows, things I’m afraid to admit, and things I don’t want to admit. I know next to nothing about you. You have to understand, I feel… uncomfortable knowing that you’ve psychoanalyzed me while I don’t even know your favorite color.” 

Ethan had long since stopped looking Norman in the eye since the start of his dialogue, but Norman stared straight at him, forehead scrunching in deep thought. He had a point; he knew nothing about Norman while the father had been evaluated by psychologists, investigated by police officers, and analyzed by an FBI criminal profiler all in one go. All that information about Ethan Mars was at Norman’s disposal. Ethan didn’t know the agent had a pet cat. He didn’t know he had a sweet inclination towards helping children. He didn’t know that he’d been so afraid when he entered the warehouse and found the killer pointing his gun at the back of Ethan’s head. 

Shaun returned as all these thoughts raced through his head. Ethan chanced a small glance at Norman, who hadn’t responded, and felt relieved when the look in his eyes hadn’t changed. He was still just as naturally friendly in demeanor as he had been in the beginning. 

“Thanks for talking to me Mr. Norman,” Shaun said. 

“You can talk to me whenever you want, Shaun. And please, you can just call me Norman.” Shaun nodded eagerly and waved goodbye. Norman waved in response, telling him he hoped they got to talk soon. Shaun tugged on his father’s hand. Ethan offered Norman a shy nod of the head, but before the duo could start walking towards the front door, Norman spoke again. 

“Blue.”

“What?” Ethan turned his head back.

“My favorite color is blue.” He smiled softly at Ethan’s deadpan expression, focusing back on his meal. He heard the chime of the door as they left the shop and watched as they passed by him at the window, waving again when Shaun waved from outside. This time, Ethan waved too. Norman’s stomach churned with all kinds of mixed emotions, so much so that he had to ask Rachel for a carry-out container for half his sub and a few leftover fries. Once home, Norman was quickly able to fall asleep, Russo curled up on the pillow beside him, tail tucked in the space behind Norman’s neck as he lay on his side and faced away from his cat. In his dreamless sleep, he felt a little more at ease than he had been just a few hours ago. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a big boi chapter. I meant to post this one for Video Game Day but ended up getting my first platinum trophy instead! I can now say I have a Heavy Rain plat and gossssshhh does it feel GOOD. So, I had to delay the editing for this chapter. :)
> 
> We're starting to see how the events of Heavy Rain, in my head, would greatly affect the way different characters' relationships will develop. Lauren's bitter and hates the world because of Shelby's manipulation, Shaun regards Norman as a second hero in his story of salvation, and Ethan's just really skeptical of Norman's intentions. I fully intend to delve deep into everyone's internal dilemmas, which is why the tags warn you about the excruciatingly slow burn. Sorry bout that. I just prefer stories that take a more realistic approach to traumatic events. How strange would it be if all the characters just forgot they almost died multiple times and moved on like nothing happened??? Wild. 
> 
> I'm also debating on whether or not I should have it so in this particular outcome for the game, Ethan was arrested after the Lizard trial. It'd make for some interesting interactions between Northan... 
> 
> Anyways, hope y'all had a swell time reading this one. Please don't come for Rachel though, she's doing her best and Nahmen's just too hawt.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any grammar mistakes! I think I caught them all, but you never know.


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